


My D.O.A.

by Mortissimo



Category: Scrubs, Torchwood
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairing, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-15
Updated: 2009-04-15
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:13:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mortissimo/pseuds/Mortissimo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Dorian has a weird night on call.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My D.O.A.

  
I've had some pretty weird days before, but I have to admit that before last Thursday, none of them had involved zombies.

I'd gotten stuck with call for the entire week, thanks to a little misunderstanding with Doctor Cox (how was I supposed to know that look meant 'Shut Up Now, Carolyn, Or Forfeit All Rights To Sleep For A Week', instead of the much more reasonable 'I Would Love To Hear About Your Wacky Dream, Dr. Dorian'?). It was about two in the morning, so I guess, technically, it was Friday when they brought the guy in. He was a victim of a hit-and-run, lucky enough to have been run over across the street from a cafe where some of the paramedics like to take their breaks. That was apparently more or less where his luck ran out, though.

He was already pale and kind of bluish when they carried him in. There was blood drying to that rusty red-brown colour in his hair, long lines running down his jaw like fingernail-scratches (oh, the stories I could tell. Fingernails really need to be classified as deadly weapons). Though it might just have been the way he was being carried, his right knee looked like it was twisted back at an angle that was probably very uncomfortable. As the paramedics rushed past me into the first open E.R. room, I saw that his right arm bent funny, too, somewhere closer to the forearm than the elbow, saw that the fingers of that hand were smashed and mangled.

Looking around, it became pretty clear that I was the closest thing to a doctor in the vicinity (unless you count Kelso, which I don't). To my left, the Janitor, giving me his usual baleful glower. To my right, a few sleep-deprived relatives of patients, craning their necks in an effort to see into the room the mangled guy had been carried into (and Kelso, doing pretty much the same thing but with less subtlety). This, I realised, could be My Moment To Shine.

Imagine: a handsome young intern, intervening at the last moment to pull a man back from the very brink of death! Staring the Grim Reaper in the eye and daring to say 'no'! It would be all over the newspapers, all over the medical journals-

"Doctor Dorian." The voice pulled me unwillingly from my vision of future greatness. I glanced down to see one of the paramedics who had carried the guy in, glowering up at me like only sleep-deprived paramedics can. "We need you to get in here-" here it is, the moment that will change my life forever as my miraculous cure is... "-and sign the death certificate."

I blinked.

"Death certificate?" I repeated slowly, cringeing a little inside at the growing intensity of the EMT's glare. "Not for that guy you just brought in."

"Yes. For him," she snapped at me, looking over her shoulder at the door. "We weren't fast enough. He was gone when we got here." With that, the paramedic turned and left, gathering her somber companion on the way. For a long moment I stood there, feeling more than a little at sea. I guess it just went to show how quickly everything can change on you.

Gathering my thoughts, I took a deep breath and headed for the guy's room. Shutting the door behind me, I paused a minute to give him a slower once-over. He seemed young, maybe only a little older than I was. Under the glaring lights his skin looked paler than it had in the foyer, though his knee didn't seem to be bent out of shape anymore. Maybe it had been the way they were carrying him, after all. I walked forward tentatively and picked up the death certificate, glancing it over. The EMT's had already filled out most of it, time and cause of death and all that, but they'd left 'Name' blank. Momentarily at a loss, I glanced down at the corpse as though he'd be able to give me an answer. Which, I realised after a second of thought, he could.

Leaning over, I began to reach into the guy's pocket when a hand flashed up out of the corner of my eye and wrapped around my wrist, too-warm and hard as steel. I'm not too proud to admit I screamed like the little girl Dr. Cox is convinced I must be. Either nobody heard or everybody in the hospital must be used to the sound of me screaming like a little girl, because nobody came to my rescue. I could only twist helplessly in the zombie's iron grip as he opened his eyes and grinned up at me.

"Sorry, but you gotta at least buy me dinner first. I'm not quite _that_ easy." I had a sudden odd vision of Floating Head Doctor as the centerpiece of a table in a pleasant little cafe, screaming silently in apple-gagged horror as Body and the zombie lean over his exposed brain. My exposed brain...

"Don't eat my brain!" I screeched, finally managing to jerk my wrist out of his grip and stumble backwards a few steps. The zombie, in most un-zombielike fashion, began to laugh as he slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position. Getting desperate, I reached behind me, groping wildly until I finally found the instrument tray. The zombie stood and began to advance towards me with a slight limp and a leer that definitely looked more than a little bit predatory. At long last, my fingers closed around metal and I crowed in triumph as I swung at the zombie with the... the forceps?

"Wasn't planning on it," said the zombie as he caught my hand easily and twisted in way that made me very, very anxious to drop whatever I was holding. I did. "Maybe now would be a good time for introductions. I'm Jack, and you are...?" Even though he was now wrenching my hand as though he wanted to make it very, very clear he had the ability to break it in several places, I still got the strangest impression that Jack (the zombie) was flirting with me.

"You were dead," I pointed out helpfully, grimacing in hopes that Jack might get the message and let go of my hand. He did, and I sighed gratefully, trying to shake out the kinks a bit.

"No, I wasn't." I could see that this was going to be a difficult conversation. It didn't help matters any when he caught my hand again, in a much less painful way, and pressed an apologetic kiss to my palm. It tickled, and for a moment I entertained a vision of Princess Johanna Dorian. Sadly, reality was weird enough at the moment to compete successfully with even the most fantastic of fantasy sequences.

"No, I really think you were," I insisted a bit weakly as Jack pushed my sleeve up and kissed the inside of my wrist. Maybe he wasn't a zombie, after all. Maybe he was a vampire.

"All right," he admitted finally, glancing up at me with an ear-to-ear grin and a decidedly dangerous look in his eyes. His dreamy, clear gray eyes... "You've got me." Wait a minute, had he read my mind? Jack dropped my wrist but took a step closer, pressing me back against the wall. The door was mere feet away, so close and yet so very far away. "I came back from the dead. I'm an immortal from the 51st century, a lost time traveller and an agent of the British government." I stared at him for a moment, blankly.

"You don't sound British." I decided on finally. This made him laugh, soft and low. His breath against my face smelled like blood and death, a smell I'd gotten only too familiar with over my years at Sacred Heart. When Jack leaned in and kissed me, though, he tasted like life itself. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't make a habit of kissing other guys (that one time didn't count. I was in college, I was drunk, and I'd just been dumped. Everyone knows I'm not at my most reasonable after being dumped), but something told me Jack could be the one to change my mind. I pressed closer, answering the kiss. But when my hands went up to wind in his hair and encountered sticky wetness, I pulled away with a gasp. Sometimes you forget someone devastatingly attractive is practically covered in blood until you get it all over your hands.

"On the other hand," Jack began, backing up a step. I nearly followed him, only stayed put because I knew that if I stopped leaning against the wall, I was going to fall over. "I'd better be going. Pleasure meeting you, Doctor..." There was a flash of something painful in his gaze, then. Or maybe he'd just gotten some blood in his eye.

"Dorian," I answered after I'd figured out it was a question. "John Dorian." It sounded a little cool, and I was tempted to try it again. I really should have gone into international espionage. I would have, if only I'd known my name could sound so cool .

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Doctor John Dorian." With a wink and a grin, Jack-the-Zombie was gone, striding out the door without even a limp to show that minutes ago, he'd been stone dead. Given a few seconds' recovery time, focusing on remembering how to breathe, I finally pushed away from the wall and went over to where I'd dropped the death certificate. Picking it up, I laid it out on the shining steel table, empty except for a few orange smudges of blood, and neatly pencilled in under the space for his name, 'Zombie, Jack T.'.

**Author's Note:**

> Old. This is old*. Written for a challenge for which I never finished my second claim.
> 
> *This was old a year ago.


End file.
